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HeartPascalispunk
pedro pascal
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PEDRO PASCAL in every episode of NARCOS (2015–2017)
► 1x07 - You Will Cry Tears of Blood
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Tick- Frankie Morales x wife!reader
Main Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist
Summary: Your husband hasn't come home after a night of drinking yet again. You wait up for him and contemplate the years and events leading up to this moment.
Rating: M for Mature
Word Count: 1166
Warnings: reader is able-bodied and has a child, though no mention of giving birth to it. I am choosing not to tag everything so as to avoid spoilers. There are heavy themes here: drug and alcohol abuse, implied smuts, implied PTSD and some of the things that go along with that.
Author's Note: I lost someone very close to me today and this is how I worked through some of my feelings. Thank you for reading. Shout-out to my wife @wannab-urs for beta reading and encouraging me to write the saddest shit known to Tumblr.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
You stare at the clock that's perched high on the kitchen wall above the table. Your anger grows with every passing second. You are so tired of this shit. This man. Day after day, year after year, you put up with his bullshit. He spent the better part of your marriage gone. Off fighting in a war he didn’t even believe in. For a country that didn’t give a fuck about him when he came back. Except it wasn’t even him that came back. Not the him that you sent off, not the him you prayed would come home to you, alive and in one piece.
He won’t even speak of the things that happened over there. What he saw, what he did. “It’s classified.” is all you could ever manage to get out of him. Hell, you got more information from the nightmares that plagued him damn near every night than you ever did from your husband. He was out of the war, but it wasn’t out of him.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
After the war came the drinking. It started out innocently enough, as these things do. Getting a few drinks with the guys on some Friday nights. That quickly turned to every Friday, then every Friday and Saturday. Backyard barbecues had less food and more booze. The nightmares stopped for the most part. But what followed was worse.
He stopped spending time with the guys around the same time he stopped coming home every night. He’d met some new friends down at the bar. People who didn’t know him the way the guys did. They didn’t care about him that way, like a brother. Like someone who’s life they had saved, someone who had saved theirs. He was just “Fun Time Frankie” to them.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
No matter how many times it happened, you still panicked when you woke up in the night and he wasn’t there. Most of the time you’d just find him passed out on the couch, fully dressed, boots dirtying up the cushions. Sometimes he couldn’t get the key into the lock and he’d just sit in one of the rocking chairs on the porch.
You thought that the nights he didn’t come home were the worst. You’d wake up to pee and reach out for him, grabbing nothing but a handful of cold sheets. Or you’d leave for work and he still wouldn’t be home, but he’d text you after he’d woken up, always ready with an excuse. With a lie. Eventually he stopped lying about being with Will or Benny. You stopped asking.
The worst was the day you woke up at five in the morning to get ready for work. You looked all around the house for him before grabbing your phone to make sure he hadn’t called you from jail. When you passed by the living room window you saw an unfamiliar car parked on the street at the end of the driveway. You squinted through the barely parted blinds and saw your husband in the passenger seat. His head was leaning back against the headrest and his eyes were closed. There was nobody in the driver’s seat. You were gonna have to go wake him up and figure out whose fucking car that was. They were blocking yours in. Just as you were about to do that you saw a head pop up from your husband's lap. The woman wiped her mouth with her thumb and forefinger, giggling. Frankie adjusted himself and kissed the woman goodbye. You ran up the stairs as he stumbled up the drive, hopped into the shower and prayed that he’d be asleep by the time you got out.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It wasn’t long after that incident that he lost his job. “Random piss test,” he said. But it wasn’t random. You couldn’t in good conscience let him keep flying people around in that helicopter. Putting their lives at risk. The drinking got easy to ignore, but once you found that little baggie full of white powder, you couldn’t make any excuses anymore. Not even to yourself.
Losing his job was a wakeup call for him. He went to rehab and got clean. It pains you to think about how happy you were during those sixty days. It was peaceful for the first time in years. You didn’t have to worry if he was in jail. Sure, you woke up alone every night. But at least you knew he was safe and not lying in a ditch somewhere.
When he came home from treatment, it finally felt like you had him back. That man that you sent off to war all those years ago. He was on track to get his license reinstated. He was home every night. You guys laughed again. You started having sex again. Your lives were so close to being back to normal. He was a great dad. The kind of dad you both always wished you had.
Then Santiago came back.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
You have no idea what happened in that jungle. Five men went in, but only four came out. As terrible as you felt for Tom’s family, you were glad your man was one of the ones that made it. He won’t talk about what happened but it must have been bad. The nightmares came back. With the nightmares the drinking and the drugs made a reappearance.
When he went out tonight he promised he wouldn’t stay out all night.
“Just a few beers. I’m gonna be with Benny and Will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise, baby.” he gave you a kiss and pulled his hat on and walked out the door.
When you woke up for the baby’s next feeding and he still wasn’t home, that’s when it hit you. This is over. You are done. You sit at the table and watch the clock. The minutes drag into hours and soon enough the sun begins to peek through the blinds. Finally, the sound of a car door slamming shut drags you from your memories of better times, and worse ones. You prepare yourself to tell your husband that you want a divorce.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
He drove home so obviously he has his keys. Why is he knocking?
You stalk across the kitchen and through the living room. He is woefully unprepared for the bitching he is about to be on the receiving end of. You unlock the door and pull it open with more force than necessary. You open your mouth, hell bent on chewing him out, and stop in your tracks.
A man is in your doorway. Khaki hat that matches his uniform turning in his hands.
“Can I help you?”
“Is this the residence of Francisco Morales?”
“Yes. He’s my husband, Frankie.”
“Ma’am, may I come in?”
“What trouble has my husband gotten himself into now?” you ask, exhausted and exasperated.
“You might want to have a seat for this, Mrs Morales.”
Tick. Tick. Ti-
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coquette 💖🎀✨✨
#pedro pascal#love#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#joel miller#the mandalorian#the last of us#cute#game of thrones#heartpascalispunk#hot#coquette#pink#tim rockford
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@ghostofaboy asked: jack daniels or joel miller | in/sp
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To the dearest, José Pedro Balmaceda Pascal. 🫠❤️
Now playing: Wild Child by The Black Keys.
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PEDRO PASCAL on the set of ‘Materialists’ | via mickmicknyc
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PEDRO PASCAL and DAKOTA JOHNSON on the set of the 'Materialists' in New York City
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Pedro Pascal is seen on the set of the "Materialists" in Brooklyn on April 29, 2024 in New York City
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How long will Pedro boys survive a zombie apocalypse?
* Click for higher resolution
Disclaimer: I haven’t seen WW84 (but Max looks like easy clicker pickings) and this is quite a limited selection of Pedro boys, so friendly discourse definitely encouraged for this one!
No commentary - discuss!
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